Twinkly lights, Quality Street, A Fairytale of New York — there’s a lot to love about the festive season.
But braving the high street to panic-buy gifts; that tedious lull between a turkey dinner and the good evening telly; hearing I Wish It Could Be Christmas Every Day for the umpteenth time that week, no thanks.
I’m writing this on the train back to my Essex home from London and I’m laden with bags, but I haven’t been doing the usual Christmas shopping: in fact, I’m not buying a single present this year, just as I haven’t for the past four years. Instead, the bags (from a decadently expensive Italian store) are groaning with ingredients for my Christmas dinner: fresh yolk-yellow pasta, a £38 fresh truffle, and the finest olive oil money can buy. And I’m going to gorge on it all by myself.
No, I’m not a grinch: as a single, child-free woman, I’ve just given up bending over backwards to fit in with societal pressure and traditions that mean little to me.
I don’t think I was ever wildly Christmassy even as a child. I quite liked It’s a Wonderful Life and Home Alone, and of course seeing the stocking (or pillow case, in our case) at the end of the bed in the morning was always a thrill. I also remember helping Mum to dust satsumas with icing sugar to make them look sparkly in the fruit bowl, and we enjoyed making mince pies together.
But if my festive spirit ever existed, it evaporated when I was an adult. I specialise in TV journalism, so December is a constant slog of writing about all the brand new Christmas and New Year programmes coming up. I love it, but by the time everybody breaks for the holidays, I’m ready to lie in a darkened room.
After my Mum died in 2022, I felt it would be too bleak to stay in the UK for Christmas so I took myself off to Argentina for a horse riding holiday, which was also my first ever solo trip. It was heavenly.
The following year, I decided to be brave and spend Christmas home alone, and I have done ever since. I do have some family, but not locally, and they have their own commitments — as do I with my horse and two greyhounds.
I’ve had invitations to spend the day with various friends and it’s incredibly kind of them so I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but no matter how genuine the invitation is, I’d find it hard not to feel like I was intruding on someone else’s special day. I don’t want anybody to have to explain the rules of the game they always play, or involve me in conversations that involve in-jokes, or make sure they cater to my vegetarian demands.
So, instead, I keep myself to myself. That first year, I did get quite sad in the run-up to the day itself: everybody seemed to be having fun with their families, and it began to feel rather lonely. I was worried about how much worse I’d feel once December 25 arrived. But – plot twist – guess what? It was incredible. I did parkrun with a bunch of cheery souls in fancy dress, had a cold-water dip in the sea with some other foolhardy loons, rode my horse and walked the dogs for miles.
After so much fresh air and exercise, all I could be bothered to do when I got home was to drink a glass of champagne in the bath, then eat scrambled eggs on toast, leaving the ingredients for my roast dinner untouched.
Fast forward two years, I’ve ditched any attempt to make a complicated dinner, and I now actively look forward to Christmas Day. I still find the lead-up odd, if I’m honest. It’s strange to watch everybody making their plans and doing family things if you know you’re going to be alone. But when people ask about my holiday plans and I tell them I do it solo, the ratio is stacked very much in favour of people that are wildly jealous of my freedom against those that feel sorry for me. And who can blame them? There’s a lot of stress and anxiety that comes with planning the perfect day for your loved ones.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-Christmas. If you’re the kind of person who loves all the bustling about and making endless shopping and to-do lists and checking them twice, then good for you. I know that for many people it’s the best time of the year and very much worth all the aggravation.
It’s also worth saying that I don’t ignore Christmas entirely; it’s not ‘just another day’. I’m the sort of person who usually finds it hard to rest or spoil myself so, for me, it’s the one time I do exactly as I please, without worrying that I should be grafting or doing something more meaningful than slopping about in the bath drinking bubbles. It’s a special day for me too, it’s just that I do it a little differently.
For those of us who perhaps don’t have children, or live away from family, or just find it all a bit much, there is an alternative. If that’s you, and you’re in any way tempted to ditch tradition for a change, trust me: it could be the best gift you treat yourself to this year.